Two Less Crazy People in the World
by Night Strider
Summary: SenMitSen, in which we meet the abnormally hotheaded Mistui, his psychiatrist and the latter’s suspicious methods, and a lone fisher guy with spiky hair. Will sanity reign supreme? On going. CONCLUDED
1. Chapter 1

Two Less Crazy People in the World

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Title is taken from (hahahahaha! This is such a mush) Air Supply's hit single which we all know which anyway.

Summary: SenMitSen, in which we meet the abnormally hotheaded Mistui, his psychiatrist and the latter's suspicious methods, and a lone fisher guy with spiky hair; will sanity reign supreme? On going.

A/N: Other than Rukawa, Sendoh is the only person, I think, who deserves to be paired with Mitsui. If you really want to know why I think so, it's because Sendoh is the only anime character who comes close to Mitsui's hotness. I actually adore this pairing too. On a different note, writing's not too good. You may notice that this isn't as contemplative as the usual fics I come up with. But don't bother too much; it's just another onslaught of my writer's block. What the hell. Here you go.

And thanks to Hannah for the idea. By gods, I haven't been writing in this category for sometime now.

Chapter I

What people have refused to learn over and over again about Mitsui Hisashi is that his patience isn't something to try. Even now as he slouches inside Dr. Kuwaku's cramped office, with his back reclining on a sofa chair and his hands having easy access to the pillows lying about, he feels the nerves inside his body pulsate with noticeable speed. He sucks his breath slowly and deeply, doing what his past psychiatrists have told him to do whenever he feels tension. He half-wonders why it never worked for him. More than that, he wonders why he has to feel tension in the first place. Under such normal circumstance, he hastens to add.

'Uh, am I right in thinking that this is 5th session you've attended this month?' Dr. Kuwaku says calmly. He has on his 450-400 reading glasses which magnify the eyes behind them in a way that will make children laugh. Mitsui, however, finds it irritating and begins to imagine Dr. Kuwaku wearing contact lenses instead. He doesn't like the picture it projects inside his head either so he just shuts his eyes and indulges them on the blackness.

'Yes. It's on my record, didn't you read it?' Mitsui says. He takes another deep breath before he slackens the rise and fall of his chest.

'I see. And didn't any of them help?'

'What? The doctors or the sessions?' Mitsui says. 'No, they didn't. They're all quacks, every single one of them. It was the same old story all over; I go to school and I feel like hurting everyone in sight. I go to my shrink after that and he tells me to do this or think like this instead so I wouldn't be short on my temper anymore. I listen to him because I haven't got any choice, have I? I go home after that, sleep, wake up in the morning and when I see people around me I just want to beat the living shit out of them. Just like before, just like always.'

A month prior to this appointment, Mrs. Mitsui got it to her head to send her son to a therapist despite Mitsui's strong vehemence to this. She has noted the swift diminishment of the china wares in their house. Lately, Mitsui has developed the habit of sending anything breakable up in the air on random, which about causes not only continuous clamor all over the neighborhood but unusual gratification in him. His first stop had been Dr. Kawamura. He is known for his unflappable efficiency, rumored to be the upshot of graduating with highest marks in Abnormal Psychology and Gerontology from Stanford University. There wasn't a loony or a wino or a dipso or a maniac—or anyone unstable entirely speaking--in town who entered his office and walked out unchanged. Until Mitsui, who for his part earned the doctor's utmost disgust for causing major discrepancy in his healing-the-crazy-asses streak. He has diagnosed Mitsui as irredeemably and dangerously unsound while Mitsui spat back at him with curses and other words that sounded very much like 'swindling people by pretending to be a wall'. When he walked out of the doctor's office, the place looked as though a tornado just sped past it. The papers were scattered all over the floor, the chairs were all overturned, the frames that formerly hung on the wall were off the angle and the door was nearly screwed out of its hinges. It was a miracle that the doctor was alive and whole when the catastrophe ended, and Mitsui with only a dislocated thumb bone. Doctor Kawamura threatened a suit, screaming hooliganism, to which Mitsui replied 'You can't put an insane person in jail!' and laughed on his sides. By then, the doctor was wholly convinced that his patient was off the chain and on his way to a maximum security asylum for the incorrigibly psychotic. Mrs. Mitsui apologized profusely, bowing her head so low one would think she was trying to kiss the ground with her knees unbent, and offered to pay for the damages, which she did 4 days later without so much as a word of complaint. But this only strengthened her resolve to do something about the insubordinate son. In her heart, she knew there was still hope in Mitsui.

The post-Kawamura meetings proved sluggish and feckless and a mere replay of the first one. The shrinks that succeeded him were less and less helpful. Mitsui stuck to his stubbornness, keeping his head at level and talking only when plied with questions that require a yes or no answer, but otherwise stayed clear of his therapists as much as he could. Until one after another they started declining a second session with him. Time's growth seemed to be in proportion with Mitsui's insane meter as all assurances to recovery washed away and as the china wares incessantly decrease in number along with the many things that continuously got broken around him. At this rate, it wouldn't come as a shock if Mitsui's hands get a hold of the appliances and worse, of his family, something Mrs. Mitsui fears the most. Lost for choices and out of ideas and names of certified psychiatrists, she settled for Dr. Kuwaku, an eccentric healer whose doorstep is only occupied when the customer demands a refund, or a fight. She said she would double the pay should Mitsui's condition improve even in the slightest, something his contemporaries have consistently failed to do. She cringes at the thought that these medical professionals only did so much to worsen her son's behavior. Kuwaku's her last hope, ('last resort, more like,' Mitsui kept on saying), poor Mrs. Mitsui thought.

So now here is Mitsui Hisashi, slumped in front of a practicing psychiatrist whose questionable performance wouldn't make Mitsui think twice about it had not his loving mother insisted he see him. Actually, Mitsui is already convinced that 4 different shrinks are enough evidence to Kawamura's accusation, 'irredeemably and dangerously psychotic'. He forgot 'insufferably'. He sits still, the minutes agonizing their way into an hour, the sun outside disappearing behind the horizon as his eyelids feel like they're going to tumble down in no time at all. It's quite late in the afternoon, I should be home at this time, Mitsui thinks.

'But have you ever tried doing what they said?' Kuwaku asks.

'I hope you didn't mean that as an insult.' Mitsui snorts at him.

'There's no room for insults here, sir,' Kuwaku chuckles. 'unless the guest brings them inside. Anyway, on to the point; did you follow their advice?'

'What'll happen if I don't answer that?'

'Well, we're going to miss a step on your recovery. That's what.' Kuwaku looks at him with pleading eyes. 'Mitsui-san, I hope very much that you'd cooperate because every little step counts. I want you to remember that.'

'Yeah. My mom said all I have to do is to listen to you guys. She didn't mention anything about following every goddamn shit you told me to that's why--'

'That's why you didn't do as you were told.'

'Hard to pretend you're insane, you know. Those guys were giving me the hopeless treatment.' Mitsui runs a finger on his hair so it's pushed back to his forehead. God, he feels like an idiot.

'Well, I'm not. We're going to bend their rules this time. It may surprise you that my methods are nothing like theirs; you just wait,' Kuwaku smiles at him. 'So, did you do as you were told, even for once? I suspect you tried at first.'

'Yeah. For a while, I did, was willing to cooperate if it meant making my family happy. But their shitty instructions just got more and more ridiculous that I was sure I was better off without them manipulating my schedule and messing up with my plans.'

'Plans, what plans?'

'Chill out with my friends. Instead of going out for a drink I was stuck in some book or silly activity they wanted me to do. God, it bored me like nothing else.'

'I'm pretty sure they were meant to have you rooted, not stuck.' Kuwaku says with a smile. Mitsui sees his eyes twinkle behind those thick prisms. Is he making fun of me? He asks himself as he marks the sudden rise in his temperature.

'What's so funny?'

'Nothing. Mitsui-san, what in particular were those activities?'

'Attending group sessions where everyone was just about as nutty as a banana cake.' Mitsui utters. His face is vapid and a bitter laugh threatens to jerk out of his throat. Like a film reel, he plays the tormenting experience inside his head. 'Everyone was crying where there wasn't the least necessity to. It was so stupid.' Mitsui starts to make impatient gestures with his hands. 'We were asked to speak, one by one; they said we should let it go, release the anger, when that's what I've been doing all along. I mean, why should I be there when I could just go berserk someplace else? So I told them I have a crappy temper and all that. Some of them I just made up—you could see what lame lies they were on the first letters--but they bought it anyway. Dumb asses. And then we were asked to listen to some soap-like monologues and before I knew it, everyone was embracing everyone. And I was like, 'what the hell is wrong with these people?' but nobody seemed to share the same opinion so…'

'So, what?'

'I don't know. It just happened. I…' Mitsui's words trail. It just happened; everything does, take it or leave it. Just like his temper, cascading out of him faster than he can say stop; or his fist, paving its way onto somebody's face even before his logic gets there. He sighs again before he lunges at the next sentence, 'I just started heaving the chairs--you know, those plastic ones they use in backyard parties; they're kinda light and easy to lift---and I threw them all across the room and at everyone and sooner than I could catch myself, several arms were grappling me.' Mitsui composes himself. 'They banned me from further meetings and the shrink who got me into it turned down any more sessions with me. Predictable.'

'Did you know why you exploded like that or even as an afterthought, do you want to find out why you're prone to these fits?'

'Yeah, that's easy. Those people were just straight stupid. I couldn't just stand there with everyone treating me as though I were like all of them. No two ways about it.' Mitsui harrumphs. 'Hell, I'm no teary-eyed wacko. I was so normal I could see how crazy those bastards were.'

'Oh, I see. So you don't want to be considered likewise, like you're one of them?'

'Exactly.'

'Did you feel guilt afterwards?'

'No.' Mitsui says. His voice is rather flat, an indication that his answer is sincere, no more, no less. True, he's not familiar with the word guilt. What the hell is that?

'Why?'

'Because I told you; they asked for it. You don't get sorry when you do what people want you to do to them.' He says, seeming proud of what he did or confessed he did. He feels himself lighten a little bit but catches the eerie glint on the surface of the doctor's eyes. 'Don't tell me you're going to make me go to that sort of shit again because if you do I'd have to split now.'

'No, no, no. Rest assured, Mitsui-san. That's not my style.'

'Really? So how do you do it then?'

'Let's just get over with a few more questions here—'

'Why don't we drop the formality shit and you tell me which medicine I should take?'

'That's not the way to do it, Mistui-san. There are things that I need to know first and I can't know them unless you tell me.'

'Alright, I get it.' Mitsui stretches his legs and raises his arms to yawn. 'I've been through this ancient lecture over once and believe me, it didn't work. If it did I wouldn't be sitting in front of you, you know. But since it's your lucky day, fire away.'

Dr. Kuwaku looks at him nervously. He fingers his eyeglasses before he proceeds with the question.

'How're you doing at school?'

'None the better.'

'What do you mean by none the better?'

'Same ole, same ole. I'm doing as well as a turtle does without its shell. I don't get good grades; in fact I don't get anything that can remotely be called a grade all around. I don't get along well with my team mates but they're nice enough to ignore me. And the teachers hate me to bits and they can't stand ignoring me so they kick me out to the corridor or to the detention room. I might've spent more hours outside the classroom than inside during this month.'

'I guess you can tell me now why people act like that around you, can you?'

This is going more like an interrogation than a session, Mitsui thinks as he recalls a number of crime series he's watched in the past in which investigative proceedings such as this were given weighty regard and depicted elaborately. Half of the show's time would run unheeded with the police questioning a suspect and crushing every bone in his body and eventually bullying him into confession or into saying what the bastards want to hear. He quickly associates himself with that beat-up poor thing, being in the same shitty quandary where the only way out is forcing lies on his mouth and labeling them as truths. Furrowing his brows, it doesn't take a minute for Mitsui to realize that this is grating on him huge time.

'Because I'm just a barely tolerated presence. Nobody wants me there and that's all there is going to be to it. I suppose that's what you're dying to hear, isn't it?' Mitsui snaps. There's a bitter tang that's rising out of his throat and when it gets on his tongue, it stays just there, making his eyes narrow and his face frown altogether.

'Oh no, sir. That's what I'm keeping you away from.'

'Why do I have the feeling that people would just keep on lying to me even if they know the truth?' Mitsui sneers. Right now, he sticks to what he knows best; harassing people. At this point he realizes that he can't fit in the role of the poor thing getting reduced to a bloody pulp.

Kuwaku keeps a forward face, a conspicuous dint to let Mitsui's insult go by the board. 'Will you describe the mood with which you confront these people?' He goes on. Damn, they still have plenty to go.

'Uh, let's see.' Mitsui pulls his lips to his teeth and looks at the ceiling as though to look at the past. 'Uh, I'm often pretty violent. I don't know why but it seems the only way to make me feel okay.'

'Violence...mmh. That's interesting. How about verbally? Do you hurt people with what you say?'

'Of course I do. I spend my sleepless nights listing down things that people hate to hear most. And in the morning I rehearse the dialogues so that in the---'

'Mitsui-san, I just asked you a crucial question. I hope you wouldn't think of being remiss so often.' Kuwaku locks Mitsui in his gaze. Mitsui feels something climb up to his spine and finds himself stirring uneasily under Kuwaku's scrutiny. What a humorless prat, Mitsui thinks. All I'm trying to do is to lighten up this boring chat and this is how he talks back? Shit, he wouldn't recognize a joke if it was on him. I hate his guts.

'Yes, those fucking charlatans said my sharp tongue is also something to work on, though that's just a second nature to me.' Mitsui says, drastically veering his gaze away from the doctor. 'well, it can't be helped; it isn't what I came here for.'

'What do you think is the reason why you're here, Mitsui-san?'

'To manage my temper, not to trim my vocabulary down to curse-less goody-two-shoes euphemisms.' Mitsui seethes.

'But didn't you know that the words you use have a lot to do with what people think of you?'

Mitsui glares at him. 'Let's set the record straight here, sir; I'm not here to find a substitute for my Good Manners and Right Conduct teacher. Generally I don't care how people see me. I just want a more flexible temper than this shitty one I have and that's all. Okay?' He almost growls.

'Alright.' Kuwaku says. 'Here's what I think, Mitsui-san; you're not satisfied with what you do. You're not happy with the results of whatever effort you exert. If you could just get something out of it, maybe you'd feel better. Maybe all you need is a proof that'd say it's worth doing what you do. By then you might learn that taking it on your environment—your personal failures, whatever they might be--isn't something a sensible person considers doing.'

Mitsui steadies his glance at the doctor. He may be right, he may be wrong. But for what it is, Mitsui feels compelled to listen for the first time in his life. He respires as if to wag away the fog that's been inside him too long, too unhealthily.

'What're you going to make me do then?' Mitsui blurts out. The last thing he wants is someone to tell him what to do, to point a finger to this and that direction, neither of which Mitsui is willing to take, ever.

'Think of something, a pastime or a hobby that at the end of the day will make you smile to yourself and say, 'I'm okay this way'.'

'A fistfight?'

'No, no, no. Something less physical. Something relaxing and fulfilling,' Kuwaku starts to make exaggerated gestures with his hands, swinging them in the space before him, and closing his eyes as though a beautiful music were humming inside his head.

'If sparring doesn't work, I don't know what does. Why don't you suggest something? You're the expert here.'

Kuwaku opens his eyes as he snaps out of his reverie. He taps a finger on his forehead, unsure of what expression to assume. He looks back at Mitsui who sits languidly on the sofa. Any minute now his impatience is going to take its toll on both of them, and who knows? The pieces of furniture in this office may catch themselves statically floating across the place in the next moment and a half. Kuwaku opts to spare Mitsui the puzzle and himself the similar disaster his predecessors had with the boy.

'Have you ever gone fishing, Mitsui-san?' He says in the very attempt to break the ice.

'No, and I bet it sucks ass anyway.'

'That's beside the point.' Kuwaku says. This time there's a flinty tone that mingles with his voice, probably aimed at Mitsui's focused attention. 'Fishing is optimum pleasure and a steep challenge all the same. Once you've had your catch, there's no better feeling than topping it on the grill and making a tasty dinner out of it.'

'So you're saying that I should fish?' Mitsui gulps. He hasn't gone fishing all his life. The closest he got to it is making fun of the bona fide old men who sit all afternoon long by the bay with rods in grips waiting for some stupid marine shit that's crazy enough to take interest in the lifeless worm hooked at the end of the nylon. They're just there, unfailingly, rain or shine, low tide or high tide; Mitsui can't even tell if they do it for pleasure or they just do it because that's the next worst thing to dying. Sorry excuse for killing time they got there.

'I'm not pushing you into it, Mitsui-san. You can try or not. If it doesn't work we can think of another solution.'

But with the way the doctor quivers, Mitsui knows for certain that he hasn't thought and can't think of anything else. Mitsui looks around him, noting as he goes on the startling contrast between the appearances of Kuwaku's neglected office and those of his erstwhile shrinks whose plushy and newly upholstered sofa beds, neatly painted walls and marbled floors are a clear testament of their success. Whatever earnings Kuwaku gets from his profession, they sure don't find their way to his office's maintenance. The shelves at the far corner of the room are filled with hard-bound leather books that have gone shabby of overuse or over-reading. Some of them are as thick as Mitsui's Physics book, which measurement he estimates at 2 to 3 inches, and some seem to have fewer pages. But none are slim enough for Mitsui to imagine himself poring on them. He's read all that crap and fishing is the only idea he can come up with? Mitsui thinks, shocked at the notion that's slowly agonizing its way to his head. He blanks it out altogether before he can shout the word 'DUPE' in capital letters.

'I see you're not happy with it. But there's no easy way out of it, is all.' Kuwaku says all of a sudden upon reading the vague expression on his patient's face.

Instead of relieving himself of the curse jerking behind his throat, Mitsui decides to take everything in a stride. There's no harm in trying, he tells himself, though he knows full well that he'd rather hang out in detention than fish.

'It's fine. I'll just do it.' He says, not so much as for his sake as for his mother's and family's. He sees Kuwaku's face brighten up with what unmistakably looks like delight.

'I'm glad that you'll take my proposition. It works, I assure you. You just ease off and let everything go its way. After all, we're just on the experimental stage.'

'Right.' Mitsui says contritely as he recollects the pathetic old men by the shore, their backs hunched and their faces looking farthest from taking pleasure in what they do. Oh brother, what have I gotten myself into? He sighs futilely.

'Alright then. Thanks for bearing with me, sir.' Kuwaku stands up, extends his hand to Mitsui and gives him the kind of smile one uses when he just defeated someone in overkill. 'See you next week.'

Mitsui moves to the door. He feels his joints cluck from long sitting and his temples ache a little. There may be too much blood pumping in his veins now for all he knows.

'There won't be next week, wacko.' He says out of earshot as he gently closes the door behind him.

TBC

A/N: This fic is already finished. I'm just revising the following chapters because they're such an eyesore. Anyway, I'm going to upload all of them at once soon as I'm done editing them. Okay? Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Two Less Crazy People in the World

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

A/N: Buckle up, you're in for a long ride. This chapter is so long it'll probably make you puke. I couldn't figure out where to cut it so I just let it go in one chapter. Sorry.

Chapter II

He has trudged half of the way to Kanagawa Bay when he noticed that his other hand where a bucket should be dangling from was empty. He remembered that he left his bucket in the garage and he really had to get it because otherwise he would be stuffing the fish he'd catch in his lunch box. Gross, he remarked, and turned around to retrace the path, walking stolidly, going through it not without nonstop profanities slipping out of his lips. His face was another matter, contorting in such a way that'd scare the daylights out of any passerby who bumped into him. The weather's on the bearable side; an opaque gray shade paints the clouds as the sun seems satisfied with just hiding behind them for the greater part of the afternoon. It's without a doubt a good day to fish.

In due course he reaches his home. He hefts up their garage's shutter and finds the silver pail standing forlorn just beside the cleaning mop. 'Here you are, you crazy shit-ass, you…' He mumbles, attributing words to the pitiful thing which he only usually gives to people he can't stand to be with for a minute. He grabs it by the handle, feeling as sure as hell that he can rupture anything, and for some outlandish reason, begins smashing it on anything inside the garage. 'Damn, why do you have to mess me up on the first day anyway?' He blares, swinging his arms in every which way and only stopping when everything's just as badly shaped as an egg splat against a wall. Thankfully most of the stuff in there are on their way to the junk shop.

'Hisashi, what's wrong?' His mom comes running down the steps with an anxious look on her face. She hasn't asked her son how his meeting with Dr. Kuwaku went yesterday, perhaps fearing that the doctor rejected further sessions with Mitsui again. _Not again_, she tells herself. 'Son, what's going on? Is something wrong?'

'Nothing that suicide won't cure.' Mitsui replies. It fascinates him that his mom will act first-timer shocked when time and again he never fails to go ballistic--just like this, even when the cause is as petty as a misplaced sock. She's supposed to be too used to it now. If she would only stop mourning for something her son never had, sanity that is, perhaps everything wouldn't be half as bad as it is. Or is it just her idea of denial? Of shying away from the ugly reality that her son is dead hopeless? And yet she's always, consistently been wistful that at times Mitsui's starting to believe it isn't just a façade. Sometimes Mitsui just gets the feeling that she wouldn't run off even if it kills her to stay by his blow-outs. And that's what makes him cling to her wishes, that and nothing else.

'Goddamn, I'm having a bad start.' Mitsui says. He's still panting from the havoc he just invoked from the top of his head. He drops the pail and rod on his side. Mrs. Mitsui's gaze falls on said fishing equipment and Mitsui's odd clothing that consists of a pair of knee-length shorts and that white run-of-the-mill T-shirt that's already slathered in sweat due to his one minute long tirade.

'Are you going somewhere, Hisashi?'

'Yes, I'm going fishing and it's going to take back my sanity.' He says, picks up the rod and bucket and makes a dash for the gate. He begins to wonder why everything he's been doing for the last few weeks is solely meant to retrieve his psychological soundness. And yet, there is nothing colossally wrong with him at all, is there? He's just a kid going through certain complicated stages; nothing awry in that. Yes, he probably sees red more frequently than the rest do but yeah. He's mighty fine.

Mrs. Mitsui emits a low 'oh' and wishes her son good luck. Mitsui raises one hand, expressing his thanks, and disappears to the sidewalks.

_It's all gone like hell's broken loose and I haven't even started. I haven't even caught a single fish and I'm already looking like mess coming from an untidy kitchen. Bleak bitch of a day_, Mitsui thinks. With a brimful of hot temper to quell, he ambles past the road on the way to Kanagawa Bay, one of the most famous fishing spots in Japan. Several hours earlier, Doctor Kuwaku phoned in to inform him of the address of the store (called 'Hooker's') where he could get fishing equipment 'at half price and twice the quality'. Mitsui was a little surprised as he was already dead set on slurring over Kuwaku's advice and erasing his existence on his mind for good. He had already made up the things he would say to his mom should she ask about the details of the meeting, and Doctor Kuwaku he didn't even consider going back to again. Basically it just shocked him almost no end that the doctor should be so thoughtful. None of his past shrinks had bothered to check out on him before. Kuwaku probably remarked that Mitsui failed to inquire about fishing when obviously he hasn't gone into one his whole life. _That loony_, Mitsui said as he slammed the phone down. He went to the shop just a few minutes after breakfast. He couldn't tell whether the things it sells are cheap or expensive as he he's never seen a fishing rod's price tag before. The salesclerk asked him if he was going to get a fishing bucket too but he remembered that they have a cleaning bucket at the house and might as well use that. 'I already have one.' He lied and cashed the bills.

He is welcomed by the lovely sight of Kanagawa Bay just when every little thing seems to point out to anyone's lucky day. Not for Mitsui whose string of bad luck already had its start at the run early in the afternoon. Forgetting his bucket, shit, it makes him want to knock his head with it. He does a survey of the area, marking potential spots where he may have a fortuitous experience of catching the most impressive, largest mackerels. Despite having been in the place countless of times before, he has never done an in-depth observation of it, and now as he does so he surprises himself by the sincere awe he's feeling; the place rocks alright. It's most possibly because he was too busy trading mean jokes with his gang to ever take the slightest notice of his surrounding. The air is rather thin; he can see the shapes it makes as it cuts through the blue surface of the water, forming snake-like curves on it. Very few people are about though some of the old men Mitsui made fun of before are present. He continues walking, his toes sinking on the sands with each step, and stopping only when some conducive spot catches his eye. Finally, he sees a protruding rock out of the water just a few feet away from the shore. He can't have chosen a better spot than this; it's just large enough to accommodate 2 people at a time and elevated enough to keep any fishing guy from getting doused by the angry waves. _Perfect_, he smirks. Rod slung on his shoulder and pail hung up on his left arm, he approaches the rock as part of his legs becomes submerged in salt water.

After surmounting himself up on the rock, he bends double on top and spins the dial on the rod to release the nylon. It actually comes with a manual but his patience, or utter lack thereof, causes him to put it aside and rely instead on his instincts. After minutes of fiddling with the device and volumes of obscene phrases, Mitsui finally gets the thing turning. He begins to attach the hook at the tip, finding it the easiest part of the process. This done, he raises the rod and swings it to the water, the nylon thread sinking beneath the bubbled waves.

Mitsui waits. And waits. There's sweat all over his nape and a roar inside his head. Once in a short while, he will change position, scrunch up his shoulders against the wind and transfer the rod from one hand to the other and prop his chin with the free hand. His patience begins to drum out of him in large quantities. The passage of time never stops and not one fish tugs at the rod. Nothing. No fish is dumb enough to see what it's up to once it bites on the hook. Why, the hook looks intimidating enough for anyone as tiny as a playful fish. No wonder.

'This is shitty! This is unrealistically shitty!' He shrieks amidst the tender roars of the waves. He tries to keep his voice low, almost succeeding, only to shudder with rage. Before he can catch a hold of himself he catches him conjuring the nylon back with a flip at the dial and snapping the rod into two. It's so brittle he doesn't even have to use half his arms' muscles to break it. 'I'm never going to fish again!' he goes on, matching the loudness of the suddenly-angered seas. He stands up, glares at the fish-less bucket beside him and kicks it with all his might. It clunks once and torques off away from Mitsui, there disappearing to the bottom of the sea where it's targeted to be. Honestly, he would've made an excellent soccer player. 'Motherfu—'

'Are you alright?' A voice, low and sounding concerned, rings behind Mitsui.

'No.' Mitsui spins around, wanting to do to the person the same thing he just did with the bucket. 'Just what the hell are you here for?'

'Why, to fish. I go here every other day.' The person smiles and his very white even teeth shine brightly. He gently sets down his fishing rods and fishing bucket. Mitsui remarks that the guy's fishing bucket is the same model the salesclerk tried to coax him into purchasing a while ago.

'You!' Mitsui groans. Sendoh Akira, of all uninteresting people. Not even in his rarest nightmares has he gone sharing his moment of recuperation with this guy. In fact, he doesn't want to share that moment with anybody at all.

Mitsui stares at him. Sendoh's hair begins to dance with the wind, the unvaried-sized spikes seeming alive with everything else. He's donned in white T-shirt, like Mitsui, and light blue PJ's that give Mitsui the inkling that he torpedoed his way here straight from his bed.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' Sendoh asks, his smile lingering on his movie-star face.

_I'm looking at your idiocy_, Mitsui feels tempted to say. _On second thought, not worth my fucking spit_.

'Nothing.'

'Do I look weird or something?'

'No. You look fine.' _Damn, why does he have to harp on that?_ _The bundle of nerves._

'Thanks.' Sendoh smiles even more widely. 'You Shohoku boys look good too, you know. Except for the captain. He reminds me of an infuriated Uozomi.' And his sentence is followed by a hearty titter that makes Mitsui cringe in no time flat.

Mitsui gapes at him, his eyes enlarged by sheer bewilderment, his breath stifled. Sendoh's words shoot out the same moment everything—the waves, the seagulls, the hum of winds—seems to quiet down. How guys look isn't (never!) a subject of conversation for two varsity hunks. _Why is Sendoh saying such morbidly immoral things?_ He asks himself, not caring anymore if the question makes him a shameless hypocrite or an obnoxious moralist or both. Mitsui ultimately feels his knees weaken.

Sendoh's laughter subsides after several demented seconds. Mitsui, however, still can't get his stooped shoulders off the weight of the shock he just incurred. Jeez, talk about out of this world!

'I'm so sorry.' Sendoh says. 'Anyway, I see you've been fishing too. But you seem to be…distressed.'

'Distressed' is a weak word, 'bloody mad' would suit it down the ground.

'You said it, dude.' Mitsui grunts. 'I've been here full 20 minutes and no fish! Jeez, what a crappy day.'

'Yeah, there are such days. But a no-catch day isn't really that bad. Usually it's the relaxation that counts.' Sendoh says. Mitsui notices the earnest optimism in Sendoh's eyes. He has seen that look many times before, on the faces of his freshman team mates, on his mother's, his teachers', friends', in the mirror.

'Really? I say that's the lamest bullshit for a slopped fishing.' Mitsui sneers. 'Tell you what; I'm splitting and I don't want to fish ever again. Ja ne.' He readies himself to un-board from the rock when Sendoh restrains him.

'Don't go yet. There's still chance. Maybe you should try again—'

'Chance? I just halved my rod and threw my bucket across this sea; tell me where chance comes in trying to fish with my bare hands. Hell, I don't need chance; I need a miracle!'

'Wait.' Sendoh says. 'I have an extra rod here. You can use it and we can put our fish in the same bucket. Is that okay?' Sendoh produces another rod and offers it to Mitsui. Mitsui stares at Sendoh for a fleeting second before clutching the rod from the latter's hands. _Wow, talk about impertinent._

'I don't know how to fish, if you must know.' Mitsui says, cautiously settling himself beside the younger boy. He feels crimped next to Sendoh whose behavior--that straight confidence--obviously suffices any suspicion that he's a superb fisher.

'I can see that.' Sendoh replies. 'Here, I can show you how.'

'No thanks. I'd rather learn by myself.'

'Come on now, Mitsui; don't be a stick-in-the-mud. I'm the guy to trust here.'

_Guy to trust? We just trashed the hell out of you in the semi-finals and you tell me I should trust you? Who the hell are you to patronize me like a piece of shit anyway? _Mitsui gives him a deadly frown. If Sendoh recognizes it, he doesn't show any sign that he does. He just goes on wordlessly demonstrating his educated way of positioning himself and turning the dial and measuring the thread. Apparently he's read the manual. Not only that, he knows it by heart and it makes Mitsui feel outstandingly stupid for getting everything riled up the first time he tried to use his rod.

'What in suffering fuck is that?' Mitsui points at the disgusting little thing Sendoh is tying around the hook.

'Worm. It's called bait. You can't fish without baits, you know. You have to give 'em silly fish some incentive if you want to cook them.'

_Can I excuse myself to the bedroom? I'm going to faint._ Mitsui tells himself as he watches the pitiful creature struggle between Sendoh's forefinger and thumb. He doesn't mind now if being without a bait is the reason why he couldn't get around to catching a fish. If the worm is all it takes, he wouldn't complain being the worst loser of any fishing tournament there is.

'Shit, man. How can you eat a fish when it just ate that thing?'

'I don't.'

'Come again?'

'I don't get to eat any fish. I just do this.' Sendoh says, referring to the holistic business of fishing. He stiffens his back and bends his arm sideways to set forth the rod onto the water. Mitsui studies him and infers that fishing is the one habit Sendoh, if faced with such dilemma, would find very hard to break. He watches as Sendoh hums melodically with the wind. He seems so serene, so convicted…

'Let me see you do it, Mitsui.' Sendoh says.

Mitsui waggles his head as if to expel the vision he just had from his head.

'What? Touch the worm? No way, man. You do it for me.'

'Uh…alright.'

Sendoh obediently attaches the worm on the hook and gives it to Mitsui.

'Did you see how I did it?'

'Yes.'

'Okay, let's get ready.'

Even if Mitsui did see how Sendoh took care of the process, from the first to the last step, he can't bring himself to focus on imitating him. He just throws the thread as carelessly as his normal I-don't-give-a-rat's-shit self can allow and watches the minutes scroll by before his very eyes. Half his mind is elsewhere and the other half is ranting about how retarded fishing is and how he's losing all hope to win the race against his red-hot temper. His insides begin to turn into jelly as his mind rebels against itself, demanding to know what he's lingering there for.

Another tormenting period of no movement edges away. Neither of their rods has soared up with a fish on its end. The waters around them seem so still, so empty that not even a living shadow beneath them has been seen by either Mitsui or Sendoh. Sendoh stays flippant all the way through. Mitsui can't tell whether or not the blatant absence of fish poses a setback for the wistful Sendoh; he just sits there, hanging on to the damned rod as though someone paid him to hold it for as long as he can. Mitsui hears every individual sound his ears cup in—the waves, winds, birds, Sendoh's breathing, his. But the time never stops flowing, never stops prolonging itself, and it's getting on Mitsui's nerves like nothing else. He may be growing taller for all the criminal amount of time that slips past them. _This is transforming into a goddamned circus,_he can almost hear his mind reeling.

Not stopping to hesitate upon seeing how intent Sendoh is on his activity, Mitsui pulls back the rod. The peaceful scene begins breaking up a bit.

'I've never felt so stupid!' He howls and stands up. 'Not in all my life living in a moron-dominated prefecture!' He wants to curse himself for his foolishness, impatience and general ignorance. 'I'm going to fucking blow you to pieces!' As if propelled by a certain force, he heaves the rod up in the air for momentum and draws its full length against his bent right knee. It cracks into two before he can detect the frightened 'no' that automatically comes gushing out of Sendoh's mouth. Ah, deja vu. It seems only a minute ago when something like this happened.

'You broke my rod!' Sendoh exclaims incredulously.

Mitsui collapses on his side. He's shaking on his feet and he doesn't know if it comes from anger or embarrassment or fear or all of the above. It happened so fast, the outburst, spinning out of control and engulfing him in its hugeness. He feels scared of what he might've done to Sendoh and to himself during that flash-like limbo of derangement.

'Yeah, I--I thought you just saw that.' Mitsui stammers as he staggers to recompose himself. 'Listen, I can get you a new one. I know a place where I can buy just like the one you lost. Maybe-'

'Never mind. It's alright, Mitsui.'

And there Mitsui witnesses the weirdest thing he has witnessed or has to witness in his lifetime. Sendoh is smiling. There's not a tinge of satire in that smile, nothing that resembles anger or disappointment in him. He pulls himself up and levels his shoulders with Mitsui.

'Maybe we should cool down, you know; grab a coffee somewhere.' Sendoh sighs. 'My treat. What a stale afternoon.'

oooooOOOOOOOOOOooooo

Inside the coffee shop, Mitsui discovers himself unable to respond to Sendoh's kindness. He can't say sorry, not at his expense of course. There were times in the past when he was on the verge of apologizing for something horrible he'd done, times when he could die of shame just by looking at the face of the person who'd been victimized by his rotten temper. But something always got there first before 'sorry' came out and he'd turn around and efface the event from his memory, for good. Now as he sits across Sendoh Akira, a stranger from some other world he can't be familiar with, a person whose name he can't find in his phonebook, the apology stays just behind his throat, moving and hauling itself up, it seems, so it can be heard, because it goddamn needs to be said out loud.

'Sendoh, I'm so sorry about what happened earlier.' And that's as much as Mitsui can manage. For someone who's been given up for hopeless by 4 certified psychiatrists, it's pretty impressive that Mitsui suddenly learns how to treat people the way they deserve to be. Perhaps it's time to reevaluate Doctor Kuwaku and his intractable methods.

'Oh, it's perfectly alright.' Sendoh smiles. For one evasive second, Mitsui sees Sendoh glow pink. 'I used to be so down when I don't get any fish but, you know, it's not really that bad because the place is nice and everything.'

'But you haven't snapped a rod into two?' Mitsui asks. He doesn't know if it's the coffee he's taking that warms him up or Sendoh's smile.

'No.' Sendoh says, sipping his coffee and placing the mug down the table. 'But I've cried.'

Mitsui blinks at him. He's not sure if he heard that right. _Did he say 'tried' or…?_

'I would cry myself dry at night, gosh; I was thinking if it was because I caught no fish or if it was because of _that._' Sendoh says. 'Then I'd still go fishing in the afternoon of the next and forget. Just forget, as though nothing happened.'

'You'd cry because you caught no fish?' Mitsui can't believe it. He himself has cried, many times, but never over a fish! He isn't so jacked up in the head after all.

'Yes, maybe. But I have other reasons. Those days I used to be so constantly depressed I needed so much help. And then I just accepted it, that I have problems and that I was never going to catch a fish no matter what happened.' Sendoh sighs, staring past Mitsui and to the infinite space behind him. Mitsui doesn't know why, but as he looks at Sendoh's face, he doesn't see the shining eyes and the invariably blinding smile, but a canvas of sorrow. 'So now even if I haven't caught one single fish all my life, it's alright.'

Mitsui's jaw drops. So that's why Sendoh doesn't get to eat any fish; he hasn't hooked one! His ears can't be registering all of this bullshit. He looks at Sendoh, trying to read the conundrum on his face and getting nothing out of it but a rise. He trusted him, considered him a genius where fishing is concerned and now he's saying that he's caught no more fish than Mitsui has? What has the world come into?

'Let me get that right.' Mitsui breathes in. He peers over the table and cranes his neck forward as though he were about to tell Sendoh a secret no one besides them should know. 'Do you mean to say that you haven't caught any? Nothing? Nada?'

'Yes.'

'But you said you go there every other day. You even looked like you knew what you were doing!'

'Of course I did. I've read the manual and other books about fishing. I even subscribed to Fishing Channel. If I didn't learn from any of those, I'd be damned.'

'Then how come you haven't caught any?'

'I don't know. Maybe there's really no fish in that spot. Nobody goes there except me and, well, you.'

He's right; there was no one there except for the two of them, at least within half a mile's radius. Mitsui slaps both hands on his head. He stares at Sendoh and sees him for what he is; a perfect sanity remover. Right, he's not going to dignify Sendoh's reply by asking why he doesn't move someplace where there's fish. The answer is quite obvious…

_You are one balky, crazy boy. Look, my insanity pales in comparison to yours; hell you sound like you're just done losing your mind. You belong to the nuthouse and it'd really do me any awful good if I tear away from you now. _Mitsui's head continues to rattle. Sure, Sendoh's unconventionality is more to be laughed at than to be problematic about. But sure also, hanging around him is harmful to Mitsui's already-messy psychological hygiene.

He stretches up and says, 'My head aches. I think I need to go home now.'

'Okay.' Sendoh gives him a parting smile. 'Would you like to fish again the day after tomorrow?'

'I, well, I---' Mitsui stutters, something he does when he's hiding something he doesn't want to be exposed for as long as the Earth lasts.

'I'll bring lunch. Who knows? We can get lucky this time.'

'Uh, okay. I'll see, alright?' Faster than he can hear Sendoh reply, Mitsui scuttles off to the exit. By this time, his mind is set on erasing the 'day after tomorrow' on his calendar. Just why did he have to say 'okay'? He grits his teeth as hurries down the pavement.

And as fast as he skids off he realizes one thing: he needs Doctor Kuwaku, bad.

TBC

A/N: Alright. So there we meet Sendoh, who obviously has psychological problems as well. Let's see what happens next.


	3. Chapter 3

Two Less Crazy People in the World

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Chapter III

He never anticipated anything like this, that is, asking for another serving of Kuwaku's prescription. Twice in his lifetime is too much, that's for sure after having his mind so patterned after the one-psychiatrist-for-each-session rule. And now he finds himself--regardless how unlikely that is—banging restlessly at Kuwaku's door. No other time than this has he felt fate and nature conspire to blight his life. No other time than this when he felt so incurable, so insecure. It seems that Mitsui isn't the only person who's surprised by this strange meeting; the same instant Dr. Kuwaku pries the door open an involuntary frown crosses his face.

'I'm so sorry to bother you, doctor. But I really need to talk to you.' Mitsui says. He can very well see that the urgency in his tone just about exasperates the doctor. He's looking just like he's been interrupted in the middle of something.

'So fast? Why, you were just here the other day.' He booms upon coming vis-à-vis Mitsui's anxious face.

'Yeah. I was also here yesterday but your sign says you close at 5 and I was half an hour late. I was just on my way home from fishing then.'

'Oh, I see.' Kuwaku gives him a hesitant smile. 'Come inside.'

'Do you have a patient coming?'

'No. Take a seat, Mitsui-san, while I just put this away.' Kuwaku gestures at the book he's clutching and moves to the shelves at the far corner of the room. Mitsui reads the title, 'Star Trek' it says. _He reads that? I couldn't even stomach its silliness when I was in 4th grade!_ _Whatever. People have been shocking me endlessly for the last couple of days that it doesn't matter anymore if elephants begin to fly,_ Mitsui mumbles under his breath. When Kuwaku returns, Mitsui has cradled himself on the sofa chair he sat on during the previous session.

'So how was it?' Kuwaku asks as he plops himself on the swivel chair.

'Bad.' Mitsui says. 'And it made me even worse.'

'I'm surprised. May I ask what made you say that?'

'Certainly.' Mitsui breathes. The un-banish-able memory of Sendoh has accompanied him all through out the night, all morning and until now. It's even worse than a nightmare that just won't go away, that keeps on scavenging on his flimsy sanity. It leaves him feeling lost and on one hand…found. 'There was this guy there. We fished together. And believe me when I tell you that he's the nuttiest prick I came in contact with.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because talking to him, it felt like I was normal. Dead normal, I amend. He says the weirdest things,' at this, Mitsui is transported back to the time when Sendoh told him that he and his team mates in Shohoku look good. 'He does the wackiest things and behaves like the entire world is going to be alright. Really, around him I felt like no damn know-it-all shrink would ever tell me something's wrong with me.'

But that's when the problem comes in. The moment he'd been separated from Sendoh, the security that he incurred from what Sendoh lacks evaporated. Everything crumbles apart, like a house of cards. Its post-air only makes him question all the more his stability. When he should be feeling elevated and sane, he feels just quite the opposite.

'And yet it made me worse, worse than ever, if you will. I'm not saying he's contagious or rabid or anything, but he made me feel frail in the head like I'd blow up any minute. Just like before.' Mitsui goes on.

'So it isn't the fishing that screwed it all up, is that what you're saying?'

Mitsui pauses. What about fishing itself? Does it have enough spunk to keep him interested and hopeful? Up to now he hasn't made a distinction between the Sendoh aspect of yesterday and the fishing. As far as he's aware, he hasn't had a wickeder day. And after that things just happened, one after another in the spur of the moment, until Mitsui couldn't handle them anymore. They make him want to strangle his neck just to be remembered.

'No, I guess not.' Mitsui gives in, refusing to replay in his head any event that took place within 24 hours. He hears Doctor Kuwaku sigh then, as though Mitsui just said something that he'd very much like to hear.

'Okay, Mitsui. Why don't you try again?'

'I can't. I may meet him there!' Mitsui snarls, taken aback by the mere thought of having Sendoh and his retarded smile by his side again. For the umpteenth time since yesterday, he trembles outwardly.

'What, the guy?'

'Yes. I don't think I can stand him another moment.' Mitsui folds his arms firmly.

'Mitsui-san, do you know who this person is? You seem to be so detested by him.'

'Creeped out, more like. Anyway, I know him alright. Technically. But he's never an intimate acquaintance. Yesterday was the first time I saw him off the court.'

'You can always ignore him, make him feel persona non grata if needs be. What's at stake here is your recovery. I wager you wouldn't want it sacrificed just because of an unwanted presence like that guy.'

'I know, I know.' Mitsui says. He knows, alright; it's the only thing he can afford to know. Sendoh's not worth any of it; the trouble, the sleepless night, the stunted train of thought, the brain-wreck. Mitsui can always try to avoid him the way he would a bad accident. And equally true enough, he can always try to scrap himself away from his bad temper and the addiction it has become. Only 'trying' proves way over hard, too much for so simple an enterprise.

'What I want you to take into account here is, this person isn't part of your healing. Don't let him be the one thing that'd stop you from retrieving your soundness.' Kuwaku says, his eyes twinkling. 'Now why don't you go back to your house and watch a good movie. You may find out that there's more to look forward to in it than in worrying yourself sick over the person.'

'Yeah, you're right.' Mitsui sighs. But the more he tries to picture a peaceful afternoon, the more he's convinced that the clinically disturbed Sendoh isn't going away. He will be there in Mitsui's solitude, dreams, in the showers and after that when he faces the mirror. Gosh, Sendoh's not going to make himself scarce just because Mitsui wants it; he may as well be _permanent_. 'Okay, consider it done then. I'll just tell my mom I went here today so she can pay you extra.'

'Thank you. I'll see you next time.'

'Yes, next time.'

Odd, but the first thing Mitsui's mind touches on is his next session with the doctor. Today's not necessarily a progress, a step ahead to his recovery, but surely he's on the right track? His teeth no longer chatter when he recalls what his mother has been telling him over and over again, that he needs help. Of course he does and Doctor Kuwaku is just perfect for the job. Once again Mitsui traipses the sidewalks, every inch of which becoming thoroughly familiar to him.

oooooOOOOOOOOOOooooo

It's one of those long evenings when somnolence is scant, the body is righteously restless and the mind is hardly at ease for one moment. Mitsui Hisashi lies on his bed, eyes wide open, lips slightly parted, mind exposed to thoughts he'd rather sleep on. Earlier, he refused to have his dinner and when his mom offered to bring it up to his room he almost snarled at her to leave him alone. Whether it was the absence of his appetite or the need for silence or something else altogether that made him shove the meal away, he isn't sure. All he knows is, the stream of occurrences in which he's been forced to participate since yesterday has been nothing but a shock to his digestion. Something that hasn't transpired in weeks is happening at Mitsui residence; it's become relatively quiet. No pot wares clanking against the walls and floors and ceilings, no knuckles on the door and no overheard curses in the middle of the night and long before it. None of Mitsui's family knows what's gone on him behind his locked bedroom door, not that they'd dare find out if they had the chance.

Inside, Mitsui tries to turn the lamps on but the orange light just about reminds him of the sun that hovers just a few inches above the horizon and hence, of his afternoon with Sendoh. He clicks it off again; never mind that his eyes are unaccustomed to darkness, the better to barricade the same thoughts from digging their way into him. Minutes later, sporadically enough, the phone beside him starts ringing. It never does save when Akagi informs him that practice is moved or when Sakuragi bugs him about the new joke he has invented or when Kogure asks him if he knows about this or that homework. He can't name a more functional possession of his than this phone, which is why he takes utmost care not to jam it on something when he has his fits.

'Hello?' Mitsui says in a voice that sounds too enervated to liberate further syllables. He can have just let the answering machine take care of it but he realizes that a few movements are needed by his body.

'Hi. Is this Hisashi?' The voice springs from the tiny dots on the speaker.

'Yes. Who's this?'

'Akira.'

And that's it. Mitsui's sanity only needs an unexpected phone call from Sendoh Akira for the last straw. He muses on that voice, joyful sounding, baritone, singsong-ish; Mitsui can close his eyes now and imagine the manner in which Sendoh is very possibly smiling, jumping up and down in delight for catching hold of a phone pal at such an unlikely hour. Of all screwed-up people to be destined to fit the role, it has to be Mitsui Hisashi, who can now barely balance the speaker right under his mouth.

'How did you know my number?' Mitsui asks and bites his lips in the process. He can taste the iron flavor on his tongue as well as the bitter lump in his throat.

'The ever so handy directory. Didn't you know?'

'But…there are too many Mitsuis here. I mean—you know---it's a very common name.' Mitsui says, his words coming in snatches and raspy exhalations.

'Yeah. Talk about difficult. I've had the longest time putting you through the wires.'

'I'm so sorry I have such a sloppy, commonplace last name.' Mitsui scoffs and then his eyes widen. 'You dialed every one of them!' He almost screeches.

'Uh-huh. No big bother so don't worry.' Sendoh says. 'What are you doing?'

'Suffering to the end of my wits.'

'Okay. Are you feeling well now?'

'Why d'you wanna know?' Mitsui snaps. He doesn't care enough for this Ryonan bloke to ask what he's doing or even to answer his question.

'Well, you left me yesterday on the pretext that your head ached. I wonder how you're doing now.'

'I've been better,' Mitsui replies. He's now marginally okay but still falling by a long shot from 'well'. Perhaps being well isn't what his body wants to be at the present. 'What do you have up your sleeve calling me at this hour?'

'A chat. Don't you do that sometimes?'

'No. I don't come to the phone unless…unless it's a matter of life and death. And just for the record, this isn't.'

'To you, perhaps.'

'What do you mean?'

'To me making friends through the phone is a good pastime. You should start trying it too.'

Mitsui closes his eyes. It's perverse enough that Sendoh would going fishing where it's impossible to catch one single fish, but rummaging over the foot-thick local directory and making friends over the phone are toeing off the line. Gosh, he needs help, needs more plenty of it than Mitsui will ever care to need.

'I don't know, I'm not so good in the making-friends-through-the-phone-lines department.' Mitsui says, permitting himself all politeness he has failed to show the other lad before.

'You can have the funniest conversations by making anonymous calls, you know. But it's more fun when you know who you're talking to.'

'Can't say I'm having fun now.'

'I am.' Sendoh says. He must've been muffling his giggles. 'You're just like Rukawa, you know. He doesn't talk much but complains a lot—'

'Hold on there. What did you just say about Rukawa?'

'That he just clams himself all the time and I do all the talking. It gets a little tiring but it's still a nice way to kill time.'

'You've called Rukawa? Give me a break.' More intense than Mitsui's weariness right now is his incredulity. Trying to get Rukawa to talk is the next thing to suicide; and the only mode of conversation which anyone can carry on with Rukawa is mutual silence. Not even in his profoundest desperation would Mitsui ever think of doing something like what Sendoh has done.

'Yeah, I've called him a number of times. I could tell he hated it at first. It wasn't until my 4th call that he got the hang of it.'

'I hate that guy! He wouldn't waste his precious saliva if he could just scowl. He's so retarded. I can't believe someone's thick enough to give him a call. I bet nobody calls him but you.' Mitsui says, not caring if his harsh words have made Sendoh wince. 'Anyway, who else have you been bugging?'

'I like talking to Hanamichi, if that's what you mean.'

'Huh! And he's okay with that?' _No_, Mitsui thinks. Sakuragi can never be okay with his archrival simpering on the opposite line and invading his privacy like this. Even Mitsui is not okay with that.

'I guess so. He doesn't hang up on me too often.'

'And that's supposed to be a sign of developing camaraderie? I don't know what else to say. The guy's full of hot air and of himself; I just can't see him talking to you, of all people.'

'I'm not sure about that. Hanamichi laughs often and I think he's happy that I call him.'

'Oh, I see; you mean that NYAHAHAHAHA-demon laugh of his? That's not his happiness, not even close. It's called bragging. I just thought you should know. And you two are so close now you even get to refer to him with his first name. Congratulations.' Mitsui's voice drips with sarcasm. He's done all the asking and inferences he needs to proclaim Sendoh as officially nuts. Case closed.

'You can say that again. Is it alright if I call you Hisashi?'

'Yeah, whatever. You're really that desperate, huh?'

'Not really, just one eager chatterbox.' This time Sendoh laughs and Mitsui doesn't even need hair gel to make his hair stand on end. 'I've got to say this; Hanamichi says the darnest things in the world.'

'Like what? Did he ever mention something about his team mates? Us?' Mitsui wouldn't be surprised if Sakuragi goes on in an endless boasting spree wherein he one-handedly defeated the rest of the team during a practice match. More specifically, it wouldn't amuse him to hear Sendoh echoing the red ape's glory words.

'I don't remember him talking about you guys and I never ask. He just---'

'Recites a litany on how great and magnificent he is. Typical Sakuragi, he just can't rise above his strutting and talk.'

'That about sums it up, I suppose.'

'Then how come you endure it?'

'I don't endure it; I enjoy it.' Sendoh corrects him.

Mitsui pauses. The words have penetrated him to the bone. Sendoh has wound him up so far already, has stretched his tether to the last inch and has whacked his head harder than anything and anything that comes after that. He doesn't know whether to laugh or curse, cry or get drunk or worse anymore. He just lies supine on the bed, inside the safe circle of the sheets' embrace, frigid, breathing silently with the speaker carefully pinned between his ear and shoulder. There's only one way to weasel himself out of this, and that is to face it directly.

'Sendoh, do you remember what you told me at the coffee shop?' Mitsui says, gathering up all courage.

'What about?'

'You said you needed help before, that you were constantly depressed.'

'I said that?'

'Yes, you did.'

'Oh boy. Well…I admit was very lonely then.'

'Why?'

'Because they said I wasn't like anybody else. I said things that they didn't like, did weird things. I don't know; next thing I knew nobody wanted to talk to me or hang out with me and I got so depressed.'

'Maybe they were right. These banters over the phone, fishing for nothing at all, crying, saying other guys are good-looking—those aren't the things any normal boy our age does.' Mitsui says, almost soothingly. Handing out admonition is one of the weirdest and rarest things he's done. Then again, he's been caught at the center of this whirlpool of weird happenstances over and over again for the past 2 days that he can easily just dismiss everything as normal.

'But I mean them. I said you guys look good and I wasn't lying. I can't see anything wrong with that.'

'I know. But,' Mitsui switches the phone to his other ear. 'there's what we call society and society cares. I'm not questioning your masculinity—wouldn't think of it—but you can't do what girls do.' There, he says it, the clincher. It should be over now.

'You sound just like my doctor.' Sendoh mutters. Mitsui recognizes the disappointed twang in his voice.

'Oh, so you've sought medical help before?'

'Of course. My parents couldn't stand me swooning and weeping all the time.'

'Did going to the doctor help?'

'Maybe. I stopped being so depressed after I start going to him.' Sendoh says. He seems to remember something good that happened in the past; reminiscing, that kind of thing. 'My shrink was an oddball, you know. At first it got my eyebrow raised when he told me that fishing would help a lot—'

'Hold on a second.' At this instant Mitsui sits up on his bed and muffs the phone closer to his ear. His brain starts undergoing hypertension. 'Your shrink told you to go fishing?'

'Right. It was a good cure. I owe it to fishing that I don't get lonely anymore. It's relaxing, exactly what he told me; and fulfilling, although I haven't caught any fish.'

_Yeah, and exactly what Kuwaku told me too. Something's so fishy about this whole fishing thing, _Mitsui's mind begins to rave, almost bursting with sinister surmises about Kuwaku. Now and again, he feels a cold something wheedling inside his belly. It's not hunger that's wrapping around his intestines now; it's more like something that rhymes with it…anger? Yes, it's scratching holes all over his insides now, begging to be unleashed, to be shouted in the open. He clenches his fists, unconscious of their force and the marks they leave on his palms.

'Hisashi, are you still there?' Sendoh says. He's repeated the same question thrice before Mitsui pays it a moment's notice.

'Er, yeah.' Mitsui says weakly. 'Sendoh, doesn't it seem strange to you that a manic-depressive should be advised to go fishing?'

'It did. But I told you it worked. From then on I quit doubting my doctor.'

'Let me guess; your doctor told you to buy your fishing equipment at Hooker's, didn't he?'

'Yes. Hisashi, I'm impressed,'

'Save your breath. Here's more; his name's Kuwaku, am I right?'

'Now I'm freaked out. How'd you know that?'

'Telepathy, or in layman's term, common sense.'

'Oh.' Sendoh says, bemused. He pauses the duration of a quarter of a minute when he remembers something. 'Hey, Hisashi; I hope it didn't slip you that we're fishing tomorrow. I can pick up a rod for you from Hooker's and we can meet up same place same time, how about it?'

'Okay, it's fine. I'll see you there tomorrow.' They hang up. It doesn't even occur to him to turn down Sendoh's invitation when he has set his teeth on standing him up. Yes, he needs to see Sendoh and to open his eyes to Kuwaku's shenanigans. By then they may get the cure they both need.

'I'm going to bust that bastard!' Mitsui explodes as if saying it aloud would keep his mind smooth and steady on the surface and underneath. He vows to make Kuwaku pay for what he did to him or what he thought of doing. _Taking advantage over a sick guy like Sendoh? Boy, that's low._ He pulls the cover over his head, indulging his ears on the buzz of absolute silence. No amount of sanity is going to block his way to Kuwaku. _That fucker, making a cheap prey out of me? I'll kill him! _He shuts his eyes as he feels himself disappear into the darkness, completely abandoned to the sleep he needs most.

TBC

A/N: Last chapter coming right up.


	4. Chapter 4

Two Less Crazy People in the World

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Final Chapter

He's going to stop Kuwaku before he claims more victims if it takes blood to do it. Mitsui woke up with that thought hanging like a halo around his head to kick-start the morning. A morbid hangover greeted him then and even now as he squats on this self-same rock he and Sendoh stood on 2 days ago, he can feel a sharp tingle pestering his temples. He wasn't completely able to exorcise the migraine after two aspirins, one heavy breakfast and a good deal of exercise. He massages the sides of his head with his fingers, forming circular movements with them, reversing the steps, then repeat. He wears his usual home-body attire---maroon tee and blue jogging pants—which complements the weather just fine. The sun is at its peak but its rays are blunt enough for anyone to stay under them for hours. The sky's more cloudy than sunny, he reflects. From where he languishes, he can see seagulls glide down to the water and up in the air only to have shells and jellyfishes clipped between their beaks_. There really ain't any fish around here,_ Mitsui sighs. The tides are fine too but don't warrant that they're going to stay so all afternoon. They may, they may not. Either way, nothing's going to stop Mitsui from having a word with Sendoh.

'Hi, you're early.' Sendoh has arrived. He climbs on the rock, dexterously flinging himself up as though he's been doing it all his life.

'Yeah. I've been here this morning, watching the sea and everything.' Mitsui says. The truth is, he just couldn't wait any longer inside his house and envision things from there. He needed to take them a little closer to his place of operation.

'Oh, how was it?'

'Alright. According to my observation they portend good things to happen.'

'Nice.' Sendoh smiles. He puts out something from behind and extends it to Mitsui. 'Here, I stopped by at Hooker's to get you this.'

'A rod? Man, you shouldn't have bothered. How much did you pay for it?' Mitsui says, wrenching his wallet out of his pockets.

'Oh no. Never mind that; I invited you here. It's just natural that I pay for the equipment.'

'You said it.' Mitsui smiles as he buries his wallet back in his pockets.

Sendoh bends down as he prepares to set his things. Mitsui watches him. Fixing the rod is as methodical as algebra; it needs to be presided with care, step by step, requiring the alacrity of a bleeding wound and experienced hands. One missed procedure and you go back to start. It's a challenge to watch out for, after all. But seeing Sendoh do it, Mitsui notes, it seems nothing but easy. He's memorized the process; he can even do it with his eyes closed and half his wits somewhere else.

'I'm just curious; would you feel any better if you catch a fish this time, Sendoh?' Mitsui asks. He's never heard Sendoh whine about catching no fish; he even seems to like the notion of zero catch. Or is he just absent-minded majority of the time? It lures Mitsui to think that he'd show less enthusiasm if he begins catching one, but then things may stop being as they are and Sendoh may not be his dense self anymore…and Mitsui seems averse to the idea. How queer.

'I don't know. Used to be I'd fantasize about all kinds of them, but I just stopped thinking about them and it doesn't seem a problem anymore.'

'Okay, I understand.' Mitsui says. No, that's an unqualified lie. He doesn't understand why Sendoh would force himself on fishing when it's clear as the heavens above that fishing doesn't like him. Not here, during this lifetime or the next. It's the same with why Mitsui himself finds it uncommonly hard to control his temper and hold his horses and basically _not _ruin everything. Some people just never learn.

'Mmh. Are you going to fish, Hisashi?'

'Not really. Not in the right condition.' He tells Sendoh who returns an understanding nod. 'I'll just watch you.' And realizing the possible meaning of his words, Mitsui rushes to add, 'I mean, I'll just watch you fish. Yeah, that's it.' He finishes with an awkward, semi-apologetic smile.

'Okay.'

Running true to form, Sendoh's bucket lays empty after the minutes accrue to an hour of perseverance. Mitsui loses count of the waves that come splashing against the shores, and of the seagulls that bob their heads in and out of the water. He has measured the drop in the temperature, marked the shift in the wind's direction and the hue of the sky. The world may start ending and the fish won't turn up. This is the life of Sendoh Akira; cyclical, monstrously predictable and plain empty. But not anymore because Mitsui Hisashi is going to put an end to all of this.

'I knew this was going to happen.' Mitsui says. He not only knew, he expected it because quite frankly, there was nothing else to expect. 'I hope the hook didn't get rusty under sea water.'

'Yeah. Maybe it would if I waited longer.' Sendoh gets up and summons the rod from the water. 'So Hisashi, what are we going to do now? The day's nearly ending.'

'I'll take you somewhere, come on.' Mitsui says as he hops off the rock and lands on the knee-deep water.

'Is it a date?' Sendoh says behind him.

Mitsui wheels around. _He's into that weird talking again, saying alien things that'd shoo the sanity off any good person's soul. Gosh, I've never felt so un-crazy._

'No, Sendoh.' Mitsui decides to meet Sendoh's query with gentle remonstration. 'I'm afraid it's not. But we're going to go together and that's it.'

'But it's still called a date, isn't it? Two people going together somewhere?' Sendoh knits his brows.

'Two people meaning a girl and a boy. In our case, we're boy and boy so…yeah.' Mitsui says, making no further attempt to explanation. He swings his gaze the other way and moves forward to the shores. He can feel his face suffuse with heat; if he only had a mirror with him he would see how brightly reddish his cheeks are now.

'Oh, right.' Sendoh hurtles after him. 'What's the name of this place we're going? Is it a mall or something?'

'No, I'm gonna take you to someone we're both indebted to. Just wait, Sendoh.'

oooooOOOOOOOOoooooo

'Doctor Kuwaku, are you there!' Mitsui hails from outside as he simultaneously raps his fist against Doctor Kuwaku's door. 'I need to talk to you.'

'Hisashi, maybe this isn't the right time. He's probably tired and needs rest. Let's just go.' Sendoh pleads.

'Back off, Sendoh.' Mitsui says as he brusquely thrusts Sendoh aside. 'I'm going to do all the talking and after that I'll give him the bloody rest his body needs alright. Once he opens this goddamn do—'

As if in concession the door swings open, revealing behind it the lanky and fresh-from-nap figure of the doctor whose otherwise comically bespectacled eyes seem to swell. 'Yes, Mitsui-san?'

'I'm sure you don't have any patient coming so I'm going inside. I have something important to say to you.' Mitsui steps in even before Kuwaku gets to invite him.

Kuwaku rubs his eyes. Without his glasses, everything to him is an impermeable blur. His planed forehead is sheltered by his tousled bangs; his un-ironed polo shirt is tucked out, his hair uncombed and un-oiled, all of which seem to say it's a bad time for a meeting.

'You look better without glasses by the way.' Mitsui smirks. 'Anyway I have a friend in tow; let me introduce you to him. Or make that let me reintroduce you to him. Say hi to your old mate, Kuwaku.' He continues and gestures his head to Sendoh who stands by the doorway, seemingly exulting at the sight of the doctor who rid him of his chronic malaise.

Kuwaku frowns at Sendoh; he can't see very much with his mole-eyes. It's only when Sendoh speaks out his name that Kuwaku learns who it is.

'It's good to see you again, Sendoh-san. How are you doing?'

'He's doing okey-dokey. Fine enough to make you pay dearly.' Mitsui answers for Sendoh. He beckons to Sendoh to follow him. 'We're going to take our seats, Doctor Kuwaku—Oh, why am I giving you a flattering title for? I'm as much a doctor as you are.' Mitsui sneers as he slouches on the sofa.

'What is the meaning of this debauchery?' The doctor barks. He darts his way to his desk and opens the drawer where he hides his glasses.

'I just checked out the list of registered doctors in this area.' Mitsui says in a triumphant air. Sendoh looks at him with befuddled eyes.

'And what, pray tell, did you learn?'

'That out of the 236 of them, your name doesn't come out. Say, funny excuse for a typographical error.' Mitsui says and begins to laugh like a madman.

'I'm sure you just omitted my name. It's there somewhere—'

'On the merchandisers' list. I checked that out too and know what I found out? I'm not going to thrill you any longer; I learned that you're the owner of Hooker's. I even called the place and looked for you but you weren't in. Thanks to you I discovered how useful the directory is.'

All this time, Sendoh traps his gaze on Kuwaku. Kuwaku's face is visibly strained, as if he were going to gasp for air any second and a half or going to piss; there's a twitchy bulk on his throat that Sendoh is sure isn't his Adam's apple, and his face is blanketed with a dark red color that reminds him of a Californian grape. Sendoh transfers his gaze to Mitsui whose very soundness is dissolving within him, and he can almost see the thoughts running on it, none of them pretty. If he could kill Kuwaku with that icy glare, he would.

'What a lousy way to advertise your lousy shop.' Mitsui says, remembering how brittle the rod he bought was. 'Going over the difficulty of impersonating a therapist. You always want an easy game to play, don't you? That's why you chose two innocent school boys to be your victims. Honestly, your imagination is zero, or even negative. Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to criticize your way of doing things; I'm here to blast your bad ass and your malpractice. You're going behind bars for this.' Mitsui goes on in a burst of feverish passion Sendoh hasn't seen before. He ends his speech, stripped of energy and further invectives to hurl.

'If I have known better, Mitsui, you had fun.' Kuwaku finally says. His eyes bounce from Mitsui to Sendoh and then back to Mitsui. Mitsui knows full well what he means by that look. The pervert.

'You crazy turd!' Mitsui shrieks before discretion gets at him. 'You're dead, you know, so stop being an impudent dick.'

'Why, I may be the conman you make me to be but didn't I do just enough to cure him?' Kuwaku points at Sendoh who's been looking so passive until now. 'Tell me boy; didn't I make you feel better?'

'Yeah, he's no longer depressed because he's been fucking besotted. Weren't you, Sendoh?' Mitsui chides in again, leaving no room for Sendoh to answer.

Sendoh purses his lips before giving Kuwaku a laconic nod. He slowly looks at Kuwaku and then at Mitsui. 'Well yes, actually. After I've been told to fish, I felt less and less lonely.'

'Sendoh, What are you talking about? This lunatic asked you to go fishing during your manic-depressive lapse. You could've committed suicide then and drowned and…' _I would've never met you. _'That's just the sort of injustice I can't forgive.'

'But I didn't and I'm better.' Sendoh protests mildly.

'You see?' Kuwaku's eyes brighten as he faces Mitsui once again. 'I changed him. And I changed you. Even now I can tell you made a huge leap; you no longer throw things around (I heard you did a pretty good job of breaking stuff at Kawamura's office), you're no longer grumpy either. And…and you've made a friend. That means you're fairly okay now.'

'You're wrong. You…I—No, it can't be.'

Mitsui gives himself a moment to breathe; speechlessness, just the state in which he feels most threatened. But true, not once this day has he thrown a fit, not even when he just burned holes on the rock watching Sendoh fish and catch nothing. He didn't even entertain the thought of wreaking anything scandalous there whereas before he wouldn't outlast a minute of sitting serenely, trying to fixate himself under one square inch of space and behaving like a good boy who's so captivated by the picturesque view of the azure ocean. He breathes again, remembering how he sedately stood by Sendoh. He just sat, watched quietly, or even whistled along with the winds. Strange though as it is, but he felt relaxed then. Just like Sendoh.

'Let's not argue over this, boy. I did my best to help you, the best I know how at least.'

'Oh, quit yammering about the 'good things' you thought you did. You couldn't give me anything but your eerie looks and retarded questions.'

'But that's what they do in the movies.'

'Hahahaha! A degree in Psychology out of the movies. I've never heard of that before. Hahahaha!' Mitsui guffaws.

'Mitsui-san, you must understand. You can't close me down. I need a side-line, you know.' Kuwaku says in a voice that's almost squeaky from nervousness.

'Tell that to my expired conscience, you sick sonuvabitch!'

'But he's right, Hisashi. You've healed.' Now that's a different voice. It's Sendoh, and he's smiling. This is the first time he takes part in the exchange without being asked. 'You really are. I didn't even know you used to have problems.'

'I had more of them than you can imagine. And this bastard here who was supposed to help me, who was supposed to convey my sanity back to me, just about screwed it all up.' Mitsui seethes as he makes popping sounds with his knuckles.

'Come on, lad. Listen to your friend. You're a ton better for chrissake. Tell me, how many plates did you blow up to ashes last night?'

'That's none of your business.'

'Hisashi, answer him.' Sendoh begs.

'Well, uh, I was too tired to do anything then.'

'So you didn't break anything?' Kuwaku asks.

'No.'

'And do you think you'd want to break anything else again?'

'No.'

'Well, in that regard you're cured! I am pleased to apprise you that I release you from my care.' Kuwaku gives him a smile.

'What? If you think—'

'Hisashi, get a grip. It's alright. There's no point insisting you're still insane.' Sendoh tells him. 'No need to feign anger anymore. Everything's good and done.'

'Done!'

'Yes. I mean, well, I think so.' Sendoh glances at Mitsui. 'I'm just glad he made you fish because otherwise I wouldn't have met you.'

None of them dares move a muscle. It seems like the hands of clock halt dead along with everything else; but time stretches to eternity and the silence extends in slow motion, or so it looks like. Mitsui's eyes become pensive like he's looking at something neither Sendoh nor Kuwaku can see. He lets his shoulders fall, knowing it's time to set aside his rants because, clearly, he doesn't and won't need them anymore. Sendoh touches his arm and without saying a word, he leads Mitsui, who has suddenly seemed to turn inanimate, out of Kuwaku's office.

'Trot along now, boys. And before I forget; you two look good together.' Kuwaku tells them and locks his door.

Mitsui salvages his breath and walks away with Sendoh. However rendered mute and frozen, deep down, quite indiscernibly, he's thinking of the same thing. Something inside him comes apart then, that solid something that used to devour him alive like cancer and send him venting his anger on things that had nothing to do with it at all. It's gone now to the other end of the world, and so are his collected worries; the fuming and the bombing and the blood-sizzling. And he no longer thinks he'd mind it if Sendoh says those odd things again. He's a weird kid, alright, but the kind of 'weird' that Mitsui understands and possibly likes. Perhaps, that's all that counts.

'Did you really look his name up at the municipal's office?' Sendoh turns to Mitsui.

'Nah, I just made that up.'

'Wow, you sure are gutsy.'

'I just don't know how to be anything else, that's why.'

Three wacky meetings with a fake doctor and he's healed, in a funny kind of way. That's pretty difficult to believe. They stop before the pedestrian lane as the traffic light shines green for the motorists.

'Will you still go fishing after this?' Sendoh asks.

'No. What for? There's no fish there. I'd sooner chase bicycles on foot.'

He stares at Sendoh who droops his head as fast as Mitsui can take a peep at his otherwise happy face. He looks like he's going to be sick, like Mitsui just poked his heart with needles. All the guy wants is company and it hurts to see how little he gets of it. Mitsui smiles and decides to shear away the pretense of catching fish and using rods and buckets and hooks and worms.

'However, I will be going there every other day. Maybe I should try catching crabs instead of fish. Would you like to go too?'

'Yes! I would love to.' Sendoh smiles. For once he looks genuinely happy.

'Let's just use nets next time. I hear they're good to use on crabs.'

'Yeah. I could get some from Hooker's.'

They reach the intersection. Mitsui has to take north and Sendoh south. The sun has sunk down minutes ago to be replaced by a silver crescent moon and stars that shower the sky like immotile fireflies. It's the time of the day when stray cats moan their mating call and jump on aluminum trash cans in their flirty, adventurous courtship. Mitsui and Sendoh laugh.

'I'll see you come the day after tomorrow, Akira. I mean, Sendoh.'

'It's okay; I like to be called Akira.'

'Right. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye.'

Mitsui has walked a few paces when he remembers something.

'Hey, Akira!'

'What?'

'If you feel like making friendly phone calls, you can always dial my number. It really makes me sad that you'd torture yourself with a conversation with Rukawa or Sakuragi, you know.'

'Oh, sure. I'll do that.' Sendoh replies. Despite being dimmed by the darkness, Mitsui can tell that Sendoh's face breaks into its usual, perpetually sparkling smile. 'Goodnight.' Sendoh says and peels away.

Mitsui follows Sendoh with his gaze until the latter's spiky-haired form dwindles and becomes enmeshed in the shadows. Once alone, Mitsui begins to hum with the dancing branches of the trees.

END

A/N: Oh my God, I ended it! Shucks, this sure wore me down. It's so effing long. Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I more than appreciate it.


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